Grima had chosen the swiftest steed in the stables of the Golden Horse. Many there were, for the messengers and kings men often stopped in the inn on their ways in and out of the city. The horse was beautiful; its mane was black as jet and its body, silver. Ithildin loved it upon sight and with one touch the horse loved her too.
"This is Landalë, one of our swiftest horses, for he is a direct descendant of the King's legendary Shadowfax, who was taken by the grey wizard, Gandalf. He will never let any rider fall, no matter how swiftly he gallops. Here, tie your bag to this saddle. I have found some rope for you to use. There now, you are ready."
Ithildin had never ridden a horse before, yet she mounted gracefully upon Landalë without trouble. The mithril stone shone underneath her tunic, but fortunately for her Grima did not see it. He handed her the reigns and the horse neighed softly beneath her. She caressed his mane gently, for she sensed that Landalë was afraid, though she could not tell why. The night was cold and the moon was nowhere to be seen. It had hidden behind black clouds and the stars had disappeared. Edoras lay in darkness and somewhere not far away, strange tall creatures hunted its lands.
"Where do I go?" asked Ithildin. "I do not know this place."
"You should head north, turning west. Follow the path that is lined with sunflowers, that which the Elves call Nóruilond, the golden road. It will take you to the North-South Road. Follow it, for it leads to the Gap of Rohan and only there may you cross to the other side of the Misty Mountains. The road will take you to the Ford of Isen, where I have already sent messengers to await you. They will take you to Isengard, the home of Saruman the White."
"I have heard of this man," said Ithildin. "But I do not wish to waste time conferring with him. I want answers. Who are these creatures and why do they seek me?"
"All your questions will be answered when you meet Saruman. For he is an old and wise being, most powerful of the Istari of Middle-Earth. He alone has the answers that you seek."
At this, the stone of mithril grew heavier still, but Ithildin was too weary with dread to notice. "Then, I will trust your counsel and take the road to Isengard. I hope that I have done what is best."
Grima smiled, but said nothing. Ithildin took up the reigns once more, and with a small whisper of command, she rode off into the night. Soft were the gallops of Landalë and swift, and soon, she disappeared from sight and sound. Grima stood in the stables for quite some time. After more than an hour, the sound of approaching horses was heard.
"Where is the Silver Lady?" spoke a voice behind him and it was cold, dark and strangely inhuman. Grima turned and before him were three riders in black. Their steeds were also black, menacing and tall. The riders were faceless, and it was not because of the dark night. Terrifying they were, and they carried Morgul swords that could pierce any substance. All who saw them cowered in fear, but Grima did not.
"She has taken the Nóruilond. She will reach Isengard in a matter of weeks, for I chose the swiftest horse I could find. I have sent messengers to the servant of your Lord with this news. He will do as your Lord commands."
The foremost rider gave a hiss of satisfaction and the sound was horrible to the ears. "That is good news," said the rider.
Grima nodded. "Now be gone, foul riders, for your steeds' footsteps dirty my city. Your task is complete, return to the land of shadow, and never dare to enter the city of the Golden Hall again."